Bittersweet Promises
by Lucifer Hisaki
Summary: POST MOVIE Everything is connected, especially if your first name has Roy in it. Feuer Roy Shiroima is a victim of visions about a man who is like him but not. Full summary inside. EdxAlter!Roy & EdxRoy implied, hinted onesided HughesxRoy, Character Death
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Bittersweet Promises (1/2)  
**Author:** Lucifer Hisaki  
**Rating:** R overall  
**Fandom:** Fullmetal Alchemist  
**Pairing:** Light One-sided Hughes/Roy implications, Ed/Roy implications, Ed/Alter!Roy  
**Summary:** Everything is connected, especially if your first name has "Roy" in it. Feuer "Roy" Shiroima is a victim of visions about a man who is like him but not. The moment he is saved by a blond young man with molten gold eyes, his life changes. This summary does not do this fic justice.  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own the fandom and I don't know if I have rights to Alter!Roy or not.  
**Notes:** **POST-MOVIE**. Character Death, Angst. Fic submission to the Green Lion contest at Scimitar Smile Fic Archive. Didn't win anything though. Review? Please? Convince me that my writing is not crap-shit? I am greatly sorry if you are very confused. You're not the only one.

**†** **Bittersweet Promises †**

**It** was strange, standing there again.

Only this time it was raining.

Light rain, an insult to his soul—his heart.

The moon was out overhead still, its light befalling on brass buttons and gold metallic medals of stained sinful honour, gleaming the black of boot toes, bill of a military issued cap; dark blue uniform absorbing the light and the rain into a harsh cold darkness of longing. Shadows gathered around wistful eyes of regret and pain, open for all to see if they only bothered to look. Rain seeped deep into thick fabric, reaching, touching, drenching the cotton black undershirt within; spreading further until water touched flesh and bone. Wind whooshed around him, chilling the air more than a winter's hail, mirroring the barren ice land of his heart, fluttering the tails of his dress uniform, creating small waves in the black of his sash.

It had been raining for far too long.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Rain fell with its supposedly soothing sound of sympathy but to him it was agony. Each drop, each sound, each moment of rain only brought memories of pain to him. Though, in reality, the harshest of rain he every encountered was his own.

Fingers roamed the surface of marble, the wet surface bringing a new cold to his soaking gloved white fingers. Manmade crevices brought agony and ache into his heart; a lone eye reading each cursing letter.

He had been here many a time before. Reliving sins of memories and regrets. Recounting everything that he had done in the past for the one six feet below him, a corpse of nothing but a restaurant for the earth and its inhabitants to feed upon slowly but surely, leaving behind nothing but two hundred and six ivory bones ready to be stained with dirt, grime and age. Nothing to be left of a man, a friend but a skeleton no one cared. Sooner or later, the plot would be used again for another death's funeral, the process beginning again.

A graveyard of memories long forgotten, never to be missed.

Each letter held different meaning but placed together, it became overwhelming. He wished it would rain harder, soaking his skin with cold and numbing pain. He wished he could die. But not this night, not this time. Not when he was so close.

His dream, his goal, it was finally back in reach.

Fuhrer.

And now he was alone.

It was strange.

The words choked him, throat tightening in wistful, painful longing. He stared at the tombstone with heavy eyes. Opening his mouth was the easy part; it was the speaking that made him hesitant. He wished someone was there but he knew this was the way it was supposed to be. He was alive. Maes Hughes was dead.

Roy Mustang was living.

Brigadier General Maes Hughes was dead.

General Roy "The Flame Alchemist" Mustang was alive and about to reach the crown he had long sought.

Maes Hughes, loyal friend and confidante, wasn't there to see it.

He closed his eyes in pain, wanting no more than to see Maes's face once more smiling at him. Taking a deep breath, Roy opened his throat, trying to say the words that brought the Alchemist to the grave. His uniform was more adorned with medals of sin and pain than ever before, reminders of the acts he had done to get this far—without his friend, his secret love. No words left his throat. Roy swallowed heavily before trying again.

"I-I did it," came out hard and fierce. His throat tightened more; it became harder to breathe, to speak, "Maes… I did it. I'm here. I'm going to be… _Fuhrer._"

Roy traced the letters of the grave marker harder, wanting nothing more than to speak to the body below his feet in person, to see the scuffled face smile with celebration and happiness. To forget the memory of a cold, empty sleeping face in a wooden coffin. Shaking his head, he tried to remember the speech he rehearsed in his head the moment Hawkeye allowed him a month's time for leave, to rest before the inauguration.

"I r-rose through the r-ranks without you here," he continued, choking on his words, breathing deeply, wanting to calm himself, to be the suave Alchemist everyone knew him to be, to put on his charade, his mask, once more. "I did it without you, Maes. You should have been here.

"With me."

The rain seemed to lighten even more but that didn't stop maelstrom in Roy's heart. His fingers tried to dig deeper into the stone. The Alchemist wanted nothing more than to be stone himself, unfeeling, unknowing, uncaring granite and marble only shaped by others with no will of his own. Once in a while he would have liked the role of the puppet but his pride and his dream would never allow him to be one of those mindless marionettes. Not anymore.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye gave me leave, Maes. A month's worth," he replied after a moment of silence, a deep breath inhaled, "The first thing I thought of was to come and see you. To yell at you. You were supposed to be here with me. You were supposed to help push me to the top. You weren't supposed to _die_, damn it!"

Roy shook his head violently, his hand slipping to the top of the gravestone, gripping the dark blemish white marble hard, knuckles whitening under the pressure, his breath quickening, hasting once more. Wracks of agony swept through his body, his shoulders shaking in the light rain. "You were my best friend, my damn _almost-brother_; we swore that we would always be there for each other, Maes. Where are you now, damn it? You're dead. Ishballa damn _dead_, Bastard. You should have known better! You should have told me about them. I could have helped. Being Fuhrer so soon could have waited. You would have been still be here for me.

"I know I'm being selfish, I know it's not your fault but I can't help it, Maes," he growled falling to his knees, his head banging lightly against the stone, the cursed letters glaring at him and his lone eye; so close to him, they blurred into everything and nothing. "You promised to be there for me, _always_. Now look at where you are! You're below me for good this time, Maes. I need you damn it! I always need you!" _More than ever now._

"We need your expertise, Maes. A war is coming and assassinations have been abundant. They're killing our Fuhrer-elects, Hughes. …I think I might be next Maes. Our intelligence isn't the same without. It never will. You were the damn best we had. We need you." _I need you._

"Maes…" Roy stared absently at the grave stone, not knowing what else to say. It had been years since his friend's demise. So many years, each year feeling like an eternity of hell, each month a walk through the gates of the Inferno, each day a knife cutting deeper and deeper into his gut, twisting with each hour, harder by the minute, falling deeper each second. Each breath he took, it felt like his last. A suffocating hell of living death. Nothing was ever the same.

_It will never be the same without you, Maes. Just like it will never be the same with Fullmetal storming through my door. All I have left for living is my goal–**our** goal–to be Fuhrer. To bring peace. _

_Maes… I need you with me. I don't know how long I can support my own weight. _

_...My men… can't support me for long_.

Suddenly, Roy was falling forward, pain flaring from a point of his neck. He felt his blood leaking out of him, voices speaking a foreign language, his vision, his world going black. His last thoughts were of a man with amber eyes and spectacled eyes and a blond teen with molten gold orbs of emotion. He whispered their names, not caring if it was out loud or just in his mind.

Then he knew no more.

† † †

**A** wail of harsh agony jolted him back to the present. The vision gone for the moment.

He looked up from his position on the floor, the cries of a woman in pain filling his ears with that scream of discontent, of horrid roars, of torturous screeches. Staring at her, he felt pity for her, sympathy for going through with what had to be one of the most painful experiences in her life. Tears were in her eyes, the panting of her body heavy, breath shortening with each gasp. Her hands gripped the edges of the surface she was on hard, knuckles white with the pressure and bawling grew louder.

Wanting nothing more than to be done with this, to see nothing more happen to this woman, to have no more blood on his hands. He continued his efforts, futile as they may be, to help her but in the end it was only a painful torture of deceiving words and lies that gave her life. The blood on his hands stained through his once pristine gloves and into his pale flesh. His skin was soaked in the crimson. Assistants fluttered in and out.

Still the screams climbed on top of themselves, he could hear nothing more than the howls and the harsh breathing of his own. He stopped his false promises, concentrating on his task. The stains grew larger, he felt himself drowning in them.

An old pain filtered through his intense devotion to his work, flickering in the back of his mind, originating from behind the cloth that hid the scars of his past. He ignored it with the shrug of his shoulders, pressing his hands harder against the women.

The female's screams deafened all ears; he felt the desire to cover his own, to stop the wails of pain from reaching his heart, his soul. If there was one thing he hated about his job it; he hated the screams. It was the one thing he could never truly ignore. They came back to him in his sleep, disturbing his slumber, wrecking havoc on his dreams. And as easily as they could be heard a new squeal of _something_ else reached his ears.

For as long as the torture he put the woman and himself through. It was over.

In his arms lay a new born girl, covered in blood, flecks of crimson stained blond hair matted against a small fragile skull. She was too small, in his opinion but beautiful nonetheless. This angel was the reason why he chose his profession amidst the racist-torn world that is now his exiled home. Shaking his head lightly, he cut the life rope that led from the babe's abdomen to her mother's womb with ease. He smiled gently at the mother before frowning, turning his head so the woman would not see.

Standing up, he walked to the pile of towels and blankets on the dresser's surface, wiping as much blood as he could from the girl's body. The girl was premature, he could tell from the size of her body but hopefully she would live. She had to. He hated to lose lives but what he hated the most besides the screams were the useless, futile sympathy he gave to his patients' families. No matter how much he did to comfort, it was useless.

The doctor shook his head a bit more as he made sure the girl was breathing properly before walking over to the woman on the bed. His smile was bright and somewhat forced. The woman's midwife dabbed a wet towel on the sweat-soaked female's forehead, an exhausted but jubilant look on the latter's face made some of his charade real. It was… nice. This was another reason to why he took this job. To see the joy on their faces. Helping people, he knew, was his calling. He could see no other path for him to take.

_If only I can understand these visions better though_, he thought as he gently placed the babe into the woman's arms. His smile grew more kind and relieved, watching the mother stroke the soft skin of the newborn in her arms. Making a note to give her some painkillers later, he rose from the bed, walking to the door, opening the threshold to stare evenly, but not making eye contact, at the three men he had left there. The woman's husband, the tallest of all the men and the only brunet in the other room, looked at him expectedly. Smiling gently, he gestured them to come inside, head bowed, not meeting their eyes to return their inquisitive gazes.

He could feel the eyes of molten gold from one of the shorter blonds staring at him intensely but he paid them no mind.

They might have saved him but he did not know why they looked at him with disappointment. With regret. With _longing_.

Once all three worried men were inside the bedroom, the doctor spoke softly in a kind even voice, not bothering to raise it to be heard, knowing already they would listen, "She's very healthy but not out of the woods just yet." He kept his head down, using his ears to listen to the babe's breathing, hoping to his deepest part of his heart that nothing will go wrong. The baby was a very beautiful and innocent spirit of life.

"Her size tells me that she is premature… and some do not last for long." He let slide the worried gasps, already used to the haunting sound, that rang through the room, "but from what I can see… she will live for as long as there is care for her. She breathes well for a premature."

Walking to the other side of the bed the midwife tended to alone, he stared smiling into the closed eyes of the newborn. "Tell me… what is her name?" He looked up to amber eyes of the father, then to the crisp blue of the mother.

The father smiled at his child, joy in his eyes, the worry the doctor gave him falling to the back of his mind, a finger prodding the body of his offspring gently. The wife remained silent, nodding to her husband on the name they must have decided before.

"Her name," the father started, "is Alicia. Alicia Hughes."

Bowing lightly, the doctor returned the smiles the parents gave him, "A wonderful name for a wonderful babe. So it is, so it will be. Welcome to the world, Alicia Hughes."

The other men rounded the bed, wanting a closer look at the child. He stepped back to give them room, falling into the shadows of the other room, close enough to hear any cries of dismay so he may return. His family was long since dead. He was alone in the world and needed no real reminder of that. Helping others was what he lived for now. His bags were still near the door of the house, dried with caked mud. It was a miracle the contents were intact. And such was a miracle that he was alive.

Only a few hours before was he lying in the dry caked muddy dirt, almost ready to die without a clean drink and food, when the blond with gold eyes tripped over him.

His stomach growled lightly. He ignored it. He pushed away his own needs to help that of the mother, just as he always had in the past. What he did was for others. His own selfish needs could wait. It was just his way in life.

It made him who he was. Feuer Shiroima.

Sitting against the wall on the floor, he waited, eyes closed for when he would be needed once again. It was the least he could do to those that helped him in this country. A country that he didn't truly know if he belonged or not. With a grim smile, he swept away all those dark thoughts of his family past. He didn't need them now, nor any time at all. What had been done cannot be reversed.

_Live in the now, not the past but learn from roads one has walked, look to the future but do not dwell much into it._

His personal proverb. It served him well.

The wind blew through the windows, the sunlight filtering through, most likely wishing to see the new babe in the other room. It felt comforting and warm on his weary body. It was the start of a new day and the week of rain had long since passed. Refreshing to his soul that he almost wished he could leave but he was needed there, just in case. Not to mention he hadn't the chance to thank his savior fully…

They also promised a good meal, his first in days.

A shadow fell over him causing him to look up into those eyes he didn't want to look into, he quickly turned his head away. It wasn't polite to look at others in the eye. The blond man cleared his throat, ready to speak as the doctor stood up to listen fully. Absently he noticed the other was half a head to a quarter shorter than him, most of his attention was on the words that escaped from a thin mouth.

"So who the fuck are you," the blond quietly yelled at him, hissing; forcing his neck to straighten, trying to look him in the eye but the doctor kept his eyes away.

Responding just as quiet, he briefly wondered if he should lead the other to a more isolated part of the house they were in but his need to stay near in case of anything stilled his muscles, "I am only a humble wandering doctor, sir. I come and go as I please."

The blond growled lightly, trying to keep his anger down, anger that was indirectly pointed toward the doctor. He had no knowledge of why he had drawn that ire from the younger male, part of him wanted to know why. "Sure, sure a doctor. That's fucking obvious. Tell me your damn name, Colo—" The blond cut himself off and again the taller man wanted to know why.

Keeping his interest out of his voice, he simply replied, "Feuer Shiroima. Feuer is my family name. Most people tend to call me Roy, however."

If possible, the blond's eyes narrowed, glare intensifying, muttering, "Roy. You just had be named Roy. As if one Colonel Bastard is enough, now I have to deal with two in my life time. As if this day can get any worse. You don't fucking act like the Bastard I know. You had to be different. You so fucking had to be Colonel Bastard with a gentlemen's pedigree."

"Excuse me?" Roy wondered what he did wrong, "But I believe you have me at a disadvantage, may I ask who you are?"

"Elric. Edward Elric," the blond, Elric, spat out the name, "Don't you dare call me shrimp, short or pipsqueak, Bastard. You got that!"

Roy blinked in confusion, wondering why Elric asked that of him. He nodded nonetheless, determined to get answers as to why the blond felt so much hatred for him. If only indirectly, somehow he knew he wasn't the true person at fault. He probably never was. He opened his mouth to ask for clarification when the midwife, Noa if he remembered her name correctly, gestured them back inside.

He smiled at the dark skin woman, wondering why she was blushing lightly at him but walked inside, head bowed in respect. Waiting for one of the new parents to speak up, he felt Elric stand behind him, a sentry against what ever loamed in the future, guarding not only the family but possibly himself. Roy was the stranger in this house, with his exotic looks and pale skin; his large black eye-patch of something over his right eye, covering not only the socket but a good portion of that part of his face.

Elric growled lightly but a look from a much younger dusky blond hair male silenced the sentry.

For a moment, he thought of kneeling but Roy decided to stand to gain a better look at the child, "Is there something you need me to do, Ma'am?" He ignored the angry sounds that came from the blond at his back with practiced ease of years past.

"Thank you," the mother whispered to him, "no one else would have came."

Roy shook his head in modesty, "I believe they would. It is I, who should be thankful. You all saved my life." Elric snorted. "And it is my pleasure to help bring your beautiful daughter into this world. It is my, after all, my profession as a man and a daughter." Again, the irritated blond interrupted him, once again he continued, "May I be blessed in knowing your names, Mr and Mrs Hughes?"

The father looked up from his intensive staring at his daughter, "Of course," he stood up, walking over to Roy, holding out his hand. "My name is Maes Hughes. The lovely woman," his smile brightened, gesturing to the exhausted woman, "on the bed is my beloved Gracia."

Nodding in acknowledgement, Roy took the hand into his own, noting it's strength. "My name is Feuer Shiroima. Feuer is my surname, yet most people choose to call me Roy rather than trying to speak my given properly," he smirked slightly, noting the widening in the eyes of the other blond male in the room, the one he could see but he could feel some shock from the man behind his back. He wondered if he did something odd. "It has been a pleasure but I suppose I must now be off—" His stomach growled loudly as if in protest.

The rest of the group laughed.

"I suppose it will not be too much to ask for that promised meal before I leave," he asked lightly.

The new mother, Gracia, smiled gently at him before turning his attention toward Noa, "Noa? Be a dear and help fix a hearty lunch for the nice man? I think I… would like to sleep now." That caused Maes to start fluffing her pillow rapidly but gently, worriment in his eyes, drawing a mirth-filled laugh from everyone else. To Roy, it was cute and full of devotion. He briefly wondered how that would feel if it was toward him.

Noa nodded, bowing her head to Roy which he returned. He heard the girl speak to Elric, leading him away through the door. Roy walked to the bedridden woman and took her side, sitting on the edge to take her pulse and temperature. The husband looked worriedly on but he merely smiled at Maes, indicating everything was fine. The other blond stood silently off to the side. Roy turned his attention to the newborn girl before he was satisfied. "Everything is fine for now, Mr. and Mrs. Hughes."

"Please," Maes asked, "Call us by our first names, Roy. We are friends are we not?" Roy returned the grin the bespectacled man gave willingly to him. For a moment, Roy felt as if he knew the other man for years.

"Maes and Gracia, then," he continued, nodding his head, "I suggest you rest, Gracia. Birthing is a very taxing ordeal for women and you do look as if you need it. Shall I assume Maes will want to stay with his family?" Roy tilted his head, knowing the answer already, moving away from the bed, toward the door.

The blond followed him, waving to the couple and their newborn, a bright smile on his face. Roy waved a small goodbye as well before the two unlikely companions found themselves in the foyer. The young man stopped soon after they closed the door, "I'm Alphonse Elric and I'm sorry about my big brother's attitude but…"

Roy stopped as well, "But what?"

"You remind him of someone from long ago. You look like him almost exactly," Alphonse continued, bowing his head, "You even sound like him, Mr. Feuer."

"Roy. Please, call me Roy and may I call you Alphonse?" Roy raised an intrigued eyebrow.

Alphonse nodded, "Roy, please forgive him. My brother and… him didn't really get along. I don't know why really but he always baited my brother, calling him short…" The blond shook his head lightly, probably in amusement, "I'm really sorry but he's normally not like this to strangers but your resemblance… is very striking, Roy. When you spoke back there… you really sounded like him, if a bit nicer and polite, sir.

"He was… my brother's commanding officer."

His eyes flickered toward the commotion in a different part of the house, he could hear the dishes and pans being rattled and used. "Your brother was military." It was not a question but Roy could see it, "He, however, was maverick, wasn't he? I don't see him as the sort to just follow rules blindly. He seems… nice." Nice wasn't the word he was thinking of but it would do.

The blond chuckled lightly, "He's the best brother I could ever have."

Roy turned to speak but Noa's voice cut through their conversation, calling them for lunch. A light smile lit his features, his body moving to the smell of food, mouth salivating with longing. It had been too long since his last meal. But when one was different, in religion or ethnicity, in this town, this country, discrimination was first of one's worries and fears. Roy had the bruises and beatings to show it.

Smiling at the dark skinned woman, he took a seat and gave his thanks to all of them. It looked delicious and it was. He noticed Alphonse didn't follow him but he paid the younger Elric no mind, thinking that perhaps he had something better to do than to sit down for a meal. _Although he does look like he needs it. He is almost too thin to be healthy,_ Roy thought absently, digging into the meal before him. For leftovers, it was incredibly scrumptious.

The meal was eaten in silence, the blond, Edward Elric, glaring at him completely between bites, staring as if he wanted to see the insides of his soul. Roy paid him no mind.

It was a good meal.

Especially when Elric choked on a chicken leg when he accepted Maes's (no doubt Gracia forced him out to have some food to fill his stomach) offer of staying for a long while just so Gracia and Alicia have someone in case of an emergency.

† † †

_**Dear** Winry, _

_Gracia and Mr. Hughes finally have their baby! And you wouldn't guess who is the doctor that overlooked the birthing. No, it's not brother which I think he's really glad about. We found the Colonel's double! And yes, brother is flipping out about it. Then again he was the one to find Mr. Feuer. (His name is Shiroima Feuer, btw. But he asks everyone to call him Roy.) _

_It was really odd or some weird twist of fate for Brother to find Mr. Feuer. He was lying in the dirt all injured and bruised. Mr. Hughes said that if Brother didn't find him, he might have died. I don't know about that but Colonel is strong… this guy, he's not military, Winry. He's a doctor! He certainly acts more polite and nicer. It's weird, I think. _

_Mr. Hughes is almost exactly like the Lt Colonel only more serious but I think that's because he didn't have a kid. I'm somewhat happy Mr. Hughes doesn't have a camera just yet. I can just imagine what sort of chaos would come of that. _

_Anyway, Mr. Feuer was really in a bad shape, I think brother must have been in shock when he found him in the alley, covered in dried **blood** and mud. He looked really bad when he came in to the house but Noa and I managed to clean and bandage him. I think Mr. Hughes offered him a hot meal and that's why Mr. Feuer decided to come with us. He awfully seems to be the sort who wouldn't want to burden himself on others. _

_Well as soon as Mr. Feuer was cleaned up, Gracia started going through her contractions and he changed in front of our eyes. We didn't know he was a doctor then but we were really lucky to find out he is! Brother and Mr. Hughes were out looking for a doctor to help Gracia. Her water broke earlier in the night, by the way. He really turned out to be very commanding. Brother said, "Yup, he's a Mustang all right." Though I'm pretty sure no one really heard him besides me. They just wouldn't understand, you know? _

_It had been a long time after Mr. Feuer and Noa disappeared into Gracia's room. I thought I aged a century just waiting for it to be over! Mr. Hughes was so white, I think he broke the armrest he was gripping so hard. I'm almost sure I heard wood snapping and breaking. Brother just watched the clock while he paced. I wonder if it was this bad when Mom had me. _

_They named the girl Alicia (I think it's this world's version of Elysia). I was somewhat expecting it, Winry. I mean… they're still our Hugheses but different cause they lived a different path than our worlds. I think it's the same with Mr. Feuer being this world's Colonel. I touched her too! Even carried her! _

_She was very cute! _

_In a way, I'm happy I was there. Especially since I never got to hold Elysia **really** at her birth because of the you-know-what. I'm not bitter about it but it's still a sore spot for Brother. _

_I better finish up soon. Lunch is going to be served soon and I had to write this after I asked for Mr. Feuer's forgiveness for my Brother's behavior. You know the one. I really wondered why Ed is so much against Mr. Feuer. _

_I have a feeling that Mr. Hughes would be giving Mr. Feuer a room here for some time. Probably the rest of his life just so Alicia has a doctor on hand for everything! And it would be nice to have one just in case Brother busts his prosthetics! _

_Write to you later again,  
Alphonse _

_P.S. I was right. Oh and brother choked on a leg of chicken when he heard Mr. Feuer agree._

† † †

**Arriving** at North City station, Roy had to admit it was very deceivingly calm. Too calm. Then again all the hustle and bustle that was North City had been subdued by the war with the Drachma military, a war Amestris had no intention of starting, much less participating. But that was too much to ask for from a country that was completely barbaric in culture, hostile in military affairs. Regardless of the Brigg mountains separating the two countries, the people of Drachma wanted war, yelled for it, screamed for it, pounded the mountains with their blood-stained hands for battle.

They assassinated potential leaders for Amestris just so they can create their own holocaust.

Roy was one of the few left untouched.

Hawkeye became an ever present shadow at his back, protecting him, shielding him, just as she always had for years. Ever since Hughes died and before then still. It didn't help weeks before, Roy was found by the Central city's cemetery groundkeeper unconscious in front of Hughes's grave. He remembered nothing of what happened, only feeling a cramping in his neck.

The Flame Alchemist didn't like it.

His memory was sharp and remained to be so. It never ceased to fail him before, even when the Elrics were still in Amestris, bless their souls wherever they may be now. Roy looked away from the empty streets to the buildings, forcing the image of a bandaged child on a bed-arm and leg gone by a taboo long made known-out of his head. _He is gone, a memory long past. Don't bother trying to remember, Roy._

Roy looked back toward the streets, walking with a confidence that he did not truly feel. Their destination was at the nearby prison where they managed to capture some of the people involved in the assassinations of the other Fuhrer elected candidates. It was, to most, suicide to watch the executions first-hand but Roy knew he had to show his power. Of all the still living Fuhrer-elects, he knew he was the most likely one to be chosen by the council of Amestris. He needed to exert his power as a General and as an Alchemist.

Even if it did mean burning those assassins alive.

A feeling that leaved more than a burning bitter taste in his mouth. It was times like these he wished he never joined the military but he had a dream to achieve. He promised so many to reach it. It was all he had left.

The car ride was uneventful; his crew merely looked out the windows to the cold autumn fields of North city. Winter was fast approaching and all didn't want a winter war. Many men and women had died during the skirmishes along the border. Already graves were filled with nothing more than bits of bones and metallic tags of the fallen. Some were sent back to their families but most left their final marks on the battle fields. Roy could hear the cries of women and children in his ears. His country cried. He fiddled with the cuff of his glove. The rough material of his gloves felt like a blade in his hand slicing the flesh, drawing the blood in an agonizing fashion; a splinter in his lion paw that refused to be plucked away so easily.

Soon they found themselves inside the outside walls of the prison. Cold, harsh and cruel wind attacked them the moment they left the confines of the car. Roy knew then something was off. Hawkeye shifted her grip on her handgun. Havoc lit a new cigarette, the butt of the previous, crushed on the ground with the heel of his foot. Fuery, Breda and Falman hung in the back, a shield protecting the first three, quiet sentries ready and willing to fight for their commander. Roy chose them well. _Hughes_ chose them well.

Lines of light skinned assassins were placed against the far wall of the prison, the head warden nodded at the newcomers. Roy's hands sweated inside the pyrotex gloves he donned. There was no need for words to be spoken. They would just be empty, meaningless.

Roy swallowed the lump in his throat, hand poised to snap away those barbaric men and _women_ to dust.

His fingers snapped but the explosion that occurred was not one of his own.

Chaos erupted in a rain of bullets.

It happened so fast. One minute Roy was standing, ready to drive those assassins to their makers. The next Hawkeye was ordering everyone to get him to safety, firing magazine after magazine at the unseen enemy. Havoc pushed him toward the prison building, Fuery and Breda soon after. Falman, off to the side, covering Hawkeye.

_It wasn't supposed to be like this!_

Then all he remembered was Falman's blood—and other things he didn't care to think too hard about—splattering on his face, the man shielding his body from a fatal bullet's flight. Roy's lone eye widened, skin paled. Pain flared from his right arm, his vision flickering black.

"_FALMAN!_"

† † †

**"_FALMAN!_"**

Roy jolted awake on his spot on the couch, a hand covering his forehead, sweat drenching his body in torrents. He looked around the room, hoping he didn't wake anyone. The clock said it was only two in the morning. Shaking his head, he wondered why it felt like he was truly there.

_Only a dream, a vision, it's not real. You don't know a Falman. You never did, Roy. Just breath, calm down._ He swung his legs off the couch and onto the floor, gripping the armrest hard to steady himself, standing up on shaking legs. "I need a drink…"

The floor felt cold against his bare feet, his blanket dropping to the floor, exposing his scarred bare chest and thin white pants. He passed by the master's bedroom, checking in on the weeks old babe and her parents. Roy smiled gently as he noted all three were sleeping peacefully.

His stride to the heart of the home was uneventful, only the light of the moon guided his way through the slivers of curtained windows. It was peaceful, tranquil but Roy knew it was only the calm before the storm. He could sense it brewing in the hearts of the natives. Thule Society rumors, whispers of blood, longings for battles, desires of reaping the living. He had seen it happen before but in this home, if only temporary, Roy fell into the false safety.

Even when a pair of gold molten ire-fueled eyes laid upon him every time he and Elric met.

The midnight bustle of the streets were the only symphony he heard and it was the only one he needed. Roy, by necessity, had become a night walker in sense. It saved his life more than once. So far he had been fortunate to be offered a board for sleeping in exchange for his taking care of Gracia and Alicia even though it was to the protest of Elric. Alphonse merely smiled at Maes and said it was good for them to have a live-in doctor. The elder Elric just walked off and wasn't seen for the rest of the night. When he returned, Elric made an effort to ignore or patronize him whenever possible. It was unfathomable.

Yet, Roy didn't place too much thought on the blond. It wasn't his business especially when he knew he was not at fault.

Finding a bottle of bourbon in one of the cabinets, he took it out reluctantly. He didn't want to burden himself on the kind couple but he knew that he needed something strong to help quell the remnants of the dream, vision, whatever. It wasn't easy seeing these visions of people—he supposedly knew dying—in front of his eyes. Even though he woke up before "Falman" fell, he knew. The man died. Having one's brain blow out literally was a good indication of such.

Obviously the connection between him and his "dream" self had to be close if he felt part of his soul shattering. But nothing compared to the dreams and visions he had years before. A vision of two doctors surrounded by their own blood. The feel of a gun in his hand, cold and heavy. A dream of a scared child with a rifle wearing fright-filled eyes of terror.

This vision was _nothing_ truly compared to that.

He backed down a shot of the bitter liquefied amber. Fast and hard. It was exactly what he needed, the harsh flow of merciless liquor flooding the back of his throat. It was essentially painful. Just the way he liked it. He wasn't a drinker by nature but he knew when he needed a drink. Settling himself in chair at the wooden table, Roy looked outside the window. He only needed the light of the moon to see, there was no point in announcing he was there to the rest of the house.

"What are you doing here, Bastard?"

Roy turned to the blond in the doorway, "Good Evening, Mr. Elric."

The blond didn't look at him, opting to walk straight to the table and sitting down. They didn't exchange glances. It was always like this, they never made eye contact despite Roy's nature not to meet the eyes of anyone but from what he could tell, Elric always made eye contact. It made him who he was: forward, confident, determined. Roy sipped slowly on his glass. The full moon glared down at them from the window over the sink, its silvery-bluish light filtering the room in mysticism and mystery.

"Is there anything I can help you with," he asked staring at the moon in thoughtful tranquility, "It is the middle of the night, after all and it is unhealthy to be awake at this time. You do need sleep. It's good for the body and the soul."

Elric rolled his eyes, Roy could feel it, "Can't sleep, really."

He raised an eyebrow, "Want to talk about it? I know we haven't been on the best of terms though it's mostly your fault, Mr. Elric. I have no clue why you insist on having this _feud_ with me. All I know is that you have some sort of ire toward me. May I ask why?"

"You look like him," the blond mumbled, head nestled between his crossed arms on the table. It was so soft that Roy could hardly hear the blond, "only _not_."

"Who," Roy blinked in confusion, "do I look like?"

"Mustang," was all the boy answered at first; the brunet stared at the Elric's hands in confusion. They were shaking. What for? Roy did not know. He sat there silent, drinking his bourbon. The bitter burn ravaged down his throat. "My commanding Bastard of a Colonel with a god complex," the blond clarified, head still nestled in his arms, "I never really thought much of him before I got Al back. And it wasn't until I saw _you_ in that damn ditch, bloody and injured."

Tilting his head to the side, he stared at the window, "…You thought he was invincible?"

Elric gave a harsh laugh, "He seriously gave that sort of appearance, the Bastard. He was always sticking his face in my business, every single time despite what I told him." A rueful smile touched the blond's lips, his head leaving its nest to stare out the window. Roy saw this through the corner of his eye. "He always butt in, no matter how much I told him not to, yelling, insulting, whatever. You name it, I probably did it. Fuck, I was so _young_ then. I done so many fucking things before I was even thirteen and Mustang was there during the real shit of it or at least in the real bad aftermath."

Roy didn't like the empty smirk on the blond's face. It struck at the heart of his soul with the darkness that it embodied.

"He was always there for us, always knowing exactly what I did, what _we_ did. I don't even know how he knew, just that every single time I made my damn report, he would already know what I had to say," the blond snorted in irritation, "It was despicable. And the worse thing is that he never took me seriously, at least up front. I hated him, really hated him."

"So you are angered at me because of this web of hate?"

"No," the blond sighed, "I don't hate him anymore, don't really think I ever did really. I was a kid back then, a stupid naïve boy that grew up so soon. Al and I lost our mother when we were really young and we did something stupid. So stupid, it was considered taboo. My life—our lives—were never the same and it could never be termed _normal_. At least until Mustang came in. Insults and all, the Bastard."

"What did he do?"

"He gave me a routine, something to follow with little change. Each time I go and give him my report, I knew what he was going to do at least roughly. Insult on my height, being a fucking know-it-all about my last mission, berate me about my mistakes, rant about the spending I shot to hell… All of that. It was… nice, I suppose. Even if he had an ego the size of Germany," Elric chuckled, "There's this one time we dueled and I suppose I think then I understood him a bit more, even though he never told me why he hesitated at the end."

Roy blinked once more, briefly telling himself to stop doing that. "You dueled?"

"Yeah, we did. Though I was the one to throw the gauntlet to him, Mustang accepted," something of a smile reached the edges of Elric's lips, "In the end though, he overpowered me but then… he froze. I don't know why but his arm started shaking and a haunted look was on his face. Kinda like he was remembering something he didn't want to. He never told me what he remembered but if it was anything like the shit I gone through… heh." Elric laughed darkly, "Let him have his secrets. I would kill to know what it was though."

The brunet nodded, standing up to grasp another glass from the cupboard. He placed it in front of Elric, who looked up at him but Roy avoided his eyes. "You look like you need some of this." He waved a hand over to the whiskey in a manner that Elric's eyes widen slightly, "You do know how to drink it right?"

Elric smiled lightly, reaching forward for the glass with his left, "Yeah, I do. Don't like the stuff but I think you're right."

The moment their bare hands touched, Roy felt his vision flick, knees weakening and the table coming closer to his face. The last thing he felt was a pair of arms wrapping around his body, stopping his body from hitting the wooden table hard. He relaxed into them, the odd cold and warmth of the arms around him, resigning himself for another impromptu vision.

† † †

**Writing** a letter to any family member of a newly dead soldier is hard. Especially when one had seen the soldier die in an act of protecting oneself. It was, by no means, fair. But life was never fair. Roy should know. If it was, Hughes might still be alive. Would be alive. The pen in his hand refused to write another word as the wind from the open window blew a cold breeze, hinted with snow and ice, into the room. It was almost a far memory of the time he once lived in these parts of his country. Of when he thought he could rise no further, when he could only live with himself by settling with the lowest of low, wallowing in his self-pity.

So many years had passed since then. So many.

A pair of gold, molten eyes burn into through the memories in his head. Even now, he knew he would never forget Fullmetal. Just like he knew he would never forget Maes Hughes.

They were unforgettable.

Roy would never forget them, even if he had a choice to. They were too precious to him, though he would never admit that to anyone. He had loved them, still loved them but as what he didn't know. He didn't want to know. It would only make the guilt in his heart heavier. Just like each word of his letter was another bullet in his body, piercing him but never being the fatal blow. The blow he was waiting for all his life.

His hand was shaking, but from the cold or the reluctance to admit that Falman was dead, he did not know. It was only yesterday, hours before actually. Now here he was, writing a condolence letter to a family he never really known, never really met. Roy and his subordinate were never truly close, but the latter's death was a striking as Hughes. Once again, he felt he took his soldier's life for granted, like Hughes's.

Never take anything for granted, he remembered someone in his past telling him. Never.

But he did, he always did, even when he tried not to. It was hard to deal with loss, any loss, especially one so recent but Roy knew he had to pull through. Just like he knew he had to go back to that prison and truly exterminate their attackers. Hawkeye tried to convince him not to go through with it but now… Now it was personal.

Roy's hand clenched hard around his pen, any harder, he would crush it to pieces. Taking a deep breath, he stood up and ran a freezing, bare hand through his jet black hair, peppered with grey strands. _So many years._ He glanced at the ceiling, wanting nothing more than a bottle of whiskey or bourbon on hand but there was none.

Discarding his black coat, he draped it over the chair, walking to the window, staring out to the cold landscape that was North City. _A frozen wasteland,_ he humoured, "Is this what you want me to lead, Maes? This barren land of no human sympathy or individuality? Of puppets and their cruel masters?" Roy's smile was grim, "I'll change this world. I can't die until I do. I can't come to you until I finish our dream. It's what we strive for, what we sacrifice for, what we _die_ for. A brave new world."

Closing his eye, he breathed in the scent of decomposing humanity, of coming ice and snow, of death. He could feel the remnants of Falman's ruptured skull on his face, the blood, guts and brain bits that fell on him like rain. _Useless._ He could taste the coppery salt of crimson life on his tongue, the bitterness of life destroyed. The yells and shrieks of terror and need filling his ears. Was it only hours since he witnessed Falman die? Hours or minutes? Moments ago.

Gloves laid on the desktop, lying innocently next to the damning letter he was writing when he felt them, a gaze on his back. Unnerving in every way, it belonged to no one he knew but it was not hostile. With a heavy sigh, he turned.

Roy's lone eye widened.

"Who are you?" The words dropped from his mouth before he realized it. The image flickered.

The illusion looked at him, mouthing words that Roy did not hear but somehow did in the depths of his mind, _…Who …are …you?_

The General's stare turned blank but inside he was worried, was this death at his door? Was he going to die? Pain flickered in his arms, his vision blinking black as the mirage of the man before him disappeared and reappeared before him, "I'm Roy Mustang."

…_I'm …Roy …Shiroima …Feuer…_

The Alchemist's jaw dropped, "You're… me?"

Roy was looking at himself but it was not him. Roy was looking at his _Mirror_. His _Other_. His _Alter_.

Then the world turned black and he fell to the floor in a thud, excruciating pain surging through his body, his vision turning into a void of nothingness.

† † †

**When** Roy woke up, he found himself staring into the worried stare of one Edward Elric, "…I spoke …to …him," left his mouth before he knew it. The blond blinked in confusion but Roy moved his head away as not to stare straight into the gaze of molten gold. He tried to stand up but a hand on his shoulder prevented him from doing so. Roy sighed lightly, cradling his head in his fingers, elbows rested on the table. In this new "vision," he found himself staring directly at the man he had become in his visions _But, at least, he has a name now…_ "…Roy …Mustang…"

The hand on his shoulder froze before Roy found himself pulled back, forced to stare at Elric in the eye. He tried glancing away through the corner of his eye but the blond was determined, "What did you say?! Look at me, Bastard! Damn it, Roy. _Look at me!_"

So he did, he stared at those twin gold eyes with his lone single one, "All I said was Roy Mustang? Do you know him? …He looks like me…" He blinked, "That's him, isn't he? That's the guy you were talking about? Who I resembled?"

"Yes," the blond nodded, "but how?! You never seen my world or the Gate! It's impossible for you to see it, especially when you don't have the same _thing_ as Noa! And what do you mean by "I spoke to him?" Is this the first time you seen him?! Roy, tell me _please_!" There was a hint of desperation in Elric's eyes, a need for knowing who this "Roy Mustang" was. It was disturbing that a man from his visions would spur such a reaction from the blond.

_Is he really that important to you?_ A pulling in his chest hurt him as much as the phantom pains that ran rabid in his body, remnants from the vision, a reminder that what he had gone through was real. "…This …is the first time I spoke with him." He tried to look away but to his dismay could not, "Before… I was him. I became him. His every move, word, action. They were his and mine. We were one… but now…? This is the first time I found out who I was in those visions… He looks like me only… it's more like a mirror reflection, I think. His eye-patch… it was his left eye." Roy touched his own, "Mine is my right. I wonder how he lost his eye." The brunet's tone turned wistful.

Elric looked away, "You scared me the first time I saw you. He was always so damn strong and to see you in that ditch… Even if you have some differences, it's slight, damn it. You fucking look too much alike."

"But we're not the same," Roy replied lightly, "He's more… confident, assertive… powerful. I'm just a meek doctor."

"The hell you're not! You took control the moment, you heard Gracia was about to give birth! You acted like a soldier, a general, a _leader_! How does that make you meek?!" The blond met Roy's eye once more, taking a deep breath, "How long has this been happening?"

Surprised, Roy couldn't find any argument to what the blond had said about his actions during Gracia's labour and to his own shock, he found he loved hearing those words from the blond. Words that usually never really mattered to him before.

He took a deep breath and thought of how long had it been since his first vision but he couldn't remember. To him, he always had them. "I… don't know. I remember seeing a war through his eyes, Mustang's eyes but they were never really as strong as they have been recently…

"It's strange. I feel like I'm actually living them now… before I only _seen_ them."

"Seen? Live? What?" Elric become more adamant. _It's not hate,_ Roy realized, _Hate does not bind them._ "Tell me. I need to know what that Bastard Colonel put himself through, damn it. I need to know if I have to go back just to kick his ass back to sensible logic." Roy shivered at the suddenly coldness he felt in the room. The vision seemed to leave more than just phantom pains and images but the winter of that strange land lingered as well.

Roy shrugged off Elric's grip, "It's more… _livid_ to me. Like they are my own experiences. Before they acted like dreams save for probably two or three… A child with a rifle… two dead doctors… an old friend's funeral." His voice shuddered, "A friend that looked like Maes…" The doctor's body shivered drastically.

Elric's eyes widen as he stepped back, hitting the counter with his spine, head shaking in denial, "That doesn't make sense! You can't see those. You were never there! There's no way you could have any contact with my world. His life."

"…He's my mirror, isn't he? My… Alter." He needed to know the answer, "I… read Parallel World and… I believe in it. He's my Alter. This… Roy Mustang… He's me but… _not_."

The blond nodded, "…Have you heard rumours about the Thule Society and their search for Shamballa?"

"Wasn't that a few years back? Two or Three?" Roy wondered what connection they had but it didn't take him long to realize the missing link, "Shamballa… they thought it was your world, right?" He smirked lightly. Elric stared at him strangely, seeing the smirk as if in shock. Roy could finally understand why he did, "So my gut was right. I had a feeling you weren't around here… You truly are a Maverick. Never thought it be a different world though." He felt like laughing.

"It's no Shamballa but it was home." Elric smiled lightly, "Though I would rather go to Resembool than Central I think. Just to see my mother's grave once more."

Roy looked at the blond, changing the subject with practiced ease, "So why are you up?"

"Couldn't sleep, was remembering Mustang." There was a more than a little hint of hesitance in Elric's voice, "I think… it's because I see you a lot, despite me not wanting too… I'm starting to remember him. I always thought… I would forget him, the damn Bastard. Even now you haunt me." The blond turned wistful, gripping the countertop tightly in his hand.

He glanced at Roy, intently, an odd look on his face, "You're not him… just like Alfons was never Alphonse. Like Hughes was never like my world's Hughes. But you look alive, sound alike, heck you're almost exactly like him only younger looking. The way you act, the majority of it anyway… it's not him but yet I feel he is."

"Maybe… we're not that different, after all," Roy muttered lightly, "A few years back, around the same time the rumours of Shamballa were dying down… I found something. A pocket watch."

Elric's eyes widened, "A… pocket… watch?"

The doctor nodded, pulling something out of his pants pocket, "I am never without it since I feel a deep connection to it. Didn't help I was also half-dying at the time either," his smirk was mirthless but he rolled on, "It was in the grass before me and I touched it…"

"What happened?"

"I… felt _whole._" Roy fingered the metal item in his hand before grasping the chain. The pocket watch dangled in the slight indoor breeze. Elric's eyes widened. "I felt better, healed. Complete… Maybe this… this is why?" He took a deep breath, "I think… this is probably why… he and I… are connected."

The blond took the watch out of Roy's hands, tracing the grooves on the front, "Amestris…" A small longing smile touched his lips. It was beautiful. Roy wanted to see him smile more. Elric opened the pocket watch and a note fell out but he paid it no mind. Sighing lightly, "It's not mine, that's for sure."

Roy looked down at the fallen piece of paper. "Look… a note."

"You never opened the watch?"

"It told me that it wasn't for me to open," Roy smiled mysteriously, not wanting to explain himself. The blond rolled his eyes and picked up the note, "So what does it say?"

Elr—Ed grinned, "You better come back, Shrimp. I still want that rematch, Kid."

They toasted each other with the bourbon; the brunet smirking and the blond grinning. Roy knew he finally had a new friend in this strange blond. He only hoped that maybe one day... he would be able to make the blond smile more brightly. _Someday, I will get him to smile at me. Until then I will sated to be his Mustang's replacement._

He didn't understand why he made that promise; all he knew was that he wanted to see Ed smile at him.

It gave him something to strive for. A desire. A _goal_.

Roy smirked behind his glass, watching the blond finger the pocket watch with great devotion. _Maybe… it's not hate that drives them but rather their… **love**. _

_It's beautiful._

† † †

_**Dear** Winry, _

_Something strange happened last night. I don't know what but Brother suddenly got out of bed panting heavily and just left. I didn't dare go after him, who knows what he was dreaming about. And I don't think it was that good… But I don't think it's a nightmare at all. Does that even make sense, Winry? _

_Well I heard some ruckus downstairs and you know us Alchemist, always curious, I tiptoed toward the origin, the kitchen, mind you. Thankfully, Maes, Gracia and Alicia were still fast asleep. Noa, too. Anyway, I found Brother and Mr. Feuer talking. Insults, of course, then well… _

_Mr. Feuer fainted but Ed managed to catch him before hit the table. It was some time before he woke up but the look on Brother's face was… haunting, hurt… different. I don't mean that in a good way either. I think… it's almost the same way as when he had nightmares about the you-know-what. I wanted to go to him but… then Mr. Feuer woke up. _

_I left soon after but… not after I heard Brother harassing him. I think I caught the words "Bastard" and "Mustang." Could it be… Mr. Feuer and the Colonel met? It's absurd, I know it. There's no way for him to get in contact with the Colonel. It's impossible. Just like us coming back home is impossible. _

_Though sometimes… I wonder if there is a way to… you know… come back home. I know Brother said this is our new home but I miss Resembool. I'm sure Brother does too. _

_Something is odd here, Winry. I want to know what but… I'm glad that Ed and Mr. Feuer talked. Cause today it seems like… they're friends now. Kinda odd once you think about it, but Mr. Feuer is not the Colonel… at least not that much I say. _

_Brother still calls him Bastard though. I guess it's good that those to are actually talking somewhat decently though… it seems like Mr. Feuer is starting to act like Colonel Mustang a bit more. I wonder why he fainted but… when Brother came back to our room to sleep… _

_It seems like Mr. Feuer made him smile. _

_Ed needs to smile some more, don't you think? _

_Till next time,  
Al_

**†** **Continued in Part 2 †**

I live off your reviews. Really. So please feed me?


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Bittersweet Promises (2/2)  
**Author:** Lucifer Hisaki  
**Rating:** R overall  
**Fandom:** Fullmetal Alchemist  
**Pairing:** Light One-sided Hughes/Roy implications, Ed/Roy implications, Ed/Alter!Roy  
**Summary:** Everything is connected, especially if your first name has "Roy" in it. Feuer "Roy" Shiroima is a victim of visions about a man who is like him but not. The moment he is saved by a blond young man with molten gold eyes, his life changes. This summary does not do this fic justice.  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own the fandom and I don't know if I have rights to Alter!Roy or not.  
**Notes:** **POST-MOVIE** Character death, Sex Implications, Angst. Fic submission to the Green Lion contest at Scimitar Smile Fic Archive. Didn't win anything though. Review? Please? Convince me that my writing is not crap-shit? I am greatly sorry if you are very confused. You're not the only one.

**†** **Bittersweet Promises †**

**Winter** was hard and cruel, like it always was.

Falman's death was still fresh in their minds but they strode forward, determined more than ever to end this forsaken war. Amestris had become the second Ishbal. Roy wanted nothing more than to stop this war from escalating to the same amounts of insanity that the previous war created. The scars of the desert land bled his inner scars minute by minute.

Weeks had gone by since that night he had met that man, that Feuer person. The new year was on the horizon, less than two fortnights away. In the time between their first meeting, Roy and Shima (as he called him now) managed to find some way to communicate. Shima never told him how and Roy never pried.

It was odd to find someone so like him but _not_.

Shima was a doctor and Roy was a soldier, a murderer. Shima was a healer by nature. Roy, a destroyer. So different but he could tell that the other man was like him. He once thought that maybe, just maybe this is what his life would have been if he decided to never become part of the army. Not as unbelievable as many may think. The conversations were good and very moving. Shima, Roy later found out, was a pacifist and despised violence but would fight when he felt the need. Roy wasn't as much for pacifism but he wanted peace and if violence, albeit reluctant violence, was needed, then so be it.

He wondered briefly from time to time, why he was blessed—cursed—to getting to know his other but he supposed it could be worse. It could be Fullmetal he was talking to. His Alter said that he and Fullmetal were acquaintances but Roy could hear the lie in Shima's voice. Shima wanted to be more than that to Fullmetal and Roy had little illusions as to why.

Not that he would ever think of Fullmetal that way.

Each time he tried, he would remember a boy no older than twelve missing two limbs, bandaged and bloodied by a forbidden act. It was called Taboo for a reason, he mused. Yet that didn't mean no one stopped trying to make the dream realized. Roy believed that some things were impossible but as an Alchemist he tried nonetheless to make it possible.

Science was curiosity.

And curiosity kills. Just like mercy slays.

Roy grinned an empty smile, staring out of his window to the snow covered land. It was just like before when he was at the out post, drowning himself in liquor with no hopes of a future. No hopes of seeing molten gold eyes. Then he found himself with renewed hope. He knew that Fullmetal was coming back.

He did.

Only to slip through his fingers to go back to wherever he had been before. Roy pushed Alphonse toward his brother, stating that Fullmetal needed someone sane to look after him. Can't have the elder Elric cause too much chaos in the world or whatever was on the other side of the Gate that clawed its grip in too deep into the Hero of the People.

Life just wasn't fair.

Sitting in the same room he was in when he was writing the condolence letter to Falman's family, Roy warmed his hands around a cup of steaming hot black coffee. It was night again and the moon was almost full. The magic hour, midnight, was still some minutes away. Somehow, Shima always managed to appear sometime after Midnight, but to Roy, that was just as well. He had the time and the insomnia to wait up until the other man appeared.

Roy needed someone that was not involved in this damn war to talk to, to vent, to rant, to yell and scream. Shima took it in stride and for that Roy was thankful. Even if the other man was only his Alter, whatever that may mean, Roy knew Shima would understand what he felt but he had a refreshing source of input when they argued. And argue they did.

A smirk graced his lips as he took a sip of his coffee. _Soon, I can find some peace._

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting," murmured a familiar voice not unlike his own. The Alchemist looked up a slow but honest smile on his face. Shima appeared the same way he always did, instantly. There was no drama, no sparkles, no mists or slowly appearances. He flickered every once in a while but that was normal for them now. Shima didn't exist in his world.

Tilting his head in greeting he met the other man's eyes, "Had nothing better to do than just muse on the hopelessness of this war. We're turning into Ishbal. I just know it and the worst of it has yet to happen."

Shima chuckled lightly, "Ever the pessimist."

"I'm only pessimistic when I'm dealing with reality. I am a very capable optimist in my ideals," Roy defended himself, "But look around you, Shima, this is normal. This room is clean and organized but everything, _everything_," he waved a hand toward the window and to the snow covered streets, "Everything there is chaos and despair. The soldiers are tired, damn it, and I can't stand sitting here and being _helpless_." _Useless._

He stood up and walked to Shima, "Did you know that we just lost two more Fuhrer-elects only yesterday? Of course not, this isn't your world. You don't belong to this world. You're only a fragment of my imagination."

"That's what you think I am tonight? Are you drunk, Mustang?" Shima glanced at the coffee mug still in the General's hands. The look on his face was sad acceptance, "You shouldn't drink, especially now. You just said you have troops to lead. What would your Fullmetal think of you now? If he saw you like this?"

Roy scoffed, "Fullmetal was never mine to have and he's gone. For good this time. The Gate is closed on his end. Even if I was never able to do what he asked, it's only a one way entrance now." The wary soldier set his mug on the window sill and looked out, "Nothing I do can bring him back and even if he was to return. I will _never_ let him take part in this damn war. He's too…"

"Innocent? Young? Naïve?" Shima shook his head, "You may be surprised. He is very capable. Fullmetal has grown up into a fine young man. Why can't you see that?"

Staring into the barren streets below, Roy sighed, "Because every time I think of him… All I see is a bandaged boy who has only see slightly more than a decade of summers. A boy with a stump for an arm and leg. I can never get that image out of my head."

"You won't try?"

"Why do you bother," Roy asked, "Why do you keep trying to make me rethink what there was between him and me? Can't you see that we will never meet again? He's gone from this world and nothing can bring him back. He has what he wanted, a flesh and blood brother. What use does he have of the military? Especially one that is shattered as this? _This_ military that is in a _futile_ war?" He glared at those empty streets, the storm in his heart releasing himself by the moment.

A pain intensifying in his limbs, his vision darkening to black but Roy stubbornly fought it off. Whatever was happening to his body didn't matter. Not now, especially when he had a war that he needed to win. For his country. For Maes. For Fullmetal. It was the least he could do for them. Now that they were gone. Especially now.

The spirit of the doctor scoffed, a scowl on his face not unlike one that graced Roy's own only hours before. It still amazed him how often the other man was like him but not.

Roy smirked at his double, "Fullmetal would only die in this war and after all he has gone through… I won't be the one to send him to his death. Not even if he would finally listen to me. He would probably just go to Resembool and hide there for the rest of his life. He wouldn't want anything to do with me. He's happy now. That's all that matters to me about him."

"You're not thinking correctly. Do you think he is truly happy with just his brother?" There was something odd in Shima's eye but Roy paid it no mind, "Do you really think he has forgotten you all?"

Roy nodded, "Of course, he did. What else do you think he still has here?"

He didn't mention that the watch in his pocket felt heavy against his leg when he said those words. Roy slipped a hand inside that pocket and fingered the surface. It wasn't his own but he knew who was the watch's real owner was. The Alchemist never opened it since Fullmetal's leaving. It wasn't his to open but if there was anything that would cause the blond to return it had to be this watch. He doubted the young prodigy would care for the watch. All it would be to him now was a reminder of his past, his sin. That was no longer a burden for Elric to carry.

Shima would have answered if a noise as loud as any explosion in Ishbal hadn't filled the room with its terror-filled sound. To Roy, it felt like one of his own explosions mixed with the hard roar of thunder in any cruel rainstorm. The sound of it, along with the memory was just horrible but he stared out the window, watching the chaos erupt on the streets. What once was white was soon drenched in crimson and black. A strangled noise left Shima's mouth but Roy ignored him.

Picking up his gloves, he slipped them on, running out of his room, flying down the stairs, lunging out of the open door way. What looked like chaos from his second story window was the End-of-the-World pandemonium on the ground level. He nodded to his men only to watch one of them (Breda) fall in front of him, clutching his leg in pain. Roy stared blankly at the fallen subordinate before turning to the rest of his crew. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Shima watching from the shadows.

The Flame Alchemist ordered his men to do what they needed, ignoring the shattering glass of windows or the piercing sounds of bullets in flight. Breda was led away by two others and Roy sent a small prayer to whoever would listen. Even an atheist, he supposed, deserves something to believe in and for him it was fate and luck. Karma.

Hawkeye was at his back, Havoc on his right and Fuery holding his rifle to his chest on Roy's left. They were his only bodyguards now and it had to be enough. Roy couldn't afford to die, not yet, not now. He owed it to those dead in his wake.

Bombs fell around him, explosions striking in almost every building. Civilians ran amok in the streets as the soldiers tried to place order on the bedlam. Shima hovered centimeters off the ground just behind Roy. The General took in comfort from his other's presence, it gave him a peace of mind to do what he needed. The gloves on his hands were made for destruction and sometimes one had to literally fight fire with fire.

A flash of silver on his left caught his eye. Fuery fell to his knees, a hand on his bleeding, crimson soaked arm; his helmet was askew to the side. Roy only managed time to raise his hand when Hawkeye blew the shooter's brains out with a well-placed shot. A med team ran over to them and Roy helped Fuery into the stretcher. Placing a hand on the wounded man's uninjured shoulder, he spoke quietly, "Don't die, Fuery."

Fuery nodded. The med team started running to the area that was hopefully safe from any crossfire.

_I'm down to two now,_ Roy realized, pain returning to his body tenfold. Only Havoc and Hawkeye were with him, the rest of his close confidantes were either injured or dead. A ghostly hand touched his shoulder and Roy stared at Shima out of the corner of his eye. _Why is he still here? Normally he's gone by now…_ Shaking his head, Roy looked around him and surveyed the area.

North city was burning around him and he wondered if this is what the Ishballian people felt when he desecrated their homes. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils. He pushed the memories of his past away and focused on the now. This was not the time to pity himself. Roy watched as his surroGate home was ripped asunder by the attacks of their enemies. A burning fury filled his heart before something akin to paralysis started to envelope him in a deadly embrace.

His breathing grew heavy. Havoc was staring at him worriedly but he managed to shake his head. The woman at his back reached for his shoulder when her body jerked at an impossible angle. Roy and Havoc stared wide-eyed as the blond sharpshooter fell to the ground between them, the snow at their feet absorbing the red crimson life that flowed out of her chest. Havoc dropped to his knees, taking the woman into his arms.

The Flame Alchemist clenched his fist tightly. _You will not take them away from me!_

Pain flared in his body, his vision blinding him completely, engulfing him in a visage of black upon jet black. Roy ignored the pain, knowing full well why he felt this pain, this suffering. It was whatever poison they injected into him that one night in the cemetery. _Trying to kill me slowly_, Roy growled in his mind, arms tensing, _Poison reacting to my intensive emotions? How good of you, bastards. No man is truly unemotional. Even me. Bastards, all of you._

Raising his arm took some effort but he barked out to Havoc to take Hawkeye away. Somehow, he knew the woman was still alive. He only hoped she would survive long enough to see him become Fuhrer. Shima held his arm with that ghostly hand in a futile effort to make contact but despite Roy's visual darkness, he knew the other man was there. It was all he needed.

It had been a long time.

He was called the Flame Alchemist for a reason.

Fire licked the ground around his feet as he closed his right eye. Though he did not have sight, Roy needed to concentrate. The last time he used this was during Ishbal. At the time he was proud of it, now he was shamed by it.

Without seeing the flames, he knew it was colored a bright orange, mixed with white, red and yellow. It wasn't what he wanted. Blue was the color he wanted, _needed_. The cold wind blew hard against his fire circle, the air feeding the fire, creating taller and more monstrous walls of flames around his body. Sweat drenched his eye-patch and wool clothing but Roy paid it no mind. Shima gasped somewhere behind him, drifting closer to him.

Then the fire circled around him in a ferocious dance of fury, faster and faster. Spinning with anger and sadness, Roy could feel the heat rising around him. _Blue, I want blue. Blue is power._

Around his fire of a tornado, mouths gaped at the sheer power that Alchemist wielded, just as Roy knew they would. Legends of his power had all but faded into the night. These men, these women, these monsters needed to know who they were dealing with.

Roy's hair clung to his skin, he felt like melting inside his wool uniform. The flame rose even higher now, reaching toward the cloud sky and beyond. The General took a deep breath and strode forward, his tornado moving with him. The color was now a complete white, he heard Shima whisper to him. Roy smirked, his voice mockingly evil in nature, "But I wanted blue. I suppose White will have to do." Shima, he could feel, glared at him. He knew what his mirror was thinking. This was wrong, but this had to be done.

He would not let this escalate to another Ishbal! Not again. Never again.

The Flame Alchemist never remembered how he unleashed his attack onto the Drachma attackers but he remembered the burning snow and flesh. The screams that once were nightmares turning into harmonic symphonies of disgusting content. Idly, Roy wondered if this is where he started thinking he had become his worst enemy, a destroyer that lived to destroy. His feet danced to a rhythm of chaos song in his head, arms moving in circular motions, snapping pandemonium unto the masses. He reveled in the screams and the smells.

It was coming back to him now.

Then it was over.

Panting heavily, he fell to one knee, eye closed, body drenched in sheets of sweat and tears, tears he did not remember shedding. The agony of his body the poison in his veins had caused was nothing compared to the poison he let into his heart. He had enjoyed that act of power, of destruction. Biting his lip until it bled, Roy tried to stand up. He was blind and could not see. Shima was hovering over him still but Roy did not say anything in his defense.

_I… became… like… Kimblee…_

With his vision black, Roy never saw the sliver of light from the moon hitting the bayonet of a rifle. He felt, more than heard, two bullets tearing into his chest, the impact causing him to hit the ground with a strangled gasp.

Gripping the snow in one hand, he noticed he burned away his gloves by the feel of cold on numb burnt flesh. He had burned his hands. Breathing was hard but somehow he managed to stay somewhat conscious to feel hands gathering him up, lifting him up to place him on another stretcher. He heard Havoc screaming for Medics, a raspy yell from Hawkeye to the soldiers to find his shooter.

_At least… she's fine for now…_

Roy tried to stay awake. He can't die yet. He still had to become Fuhrer. He still had a mission to fulfill, a country to lead. A war to end.

But the arms of unconscious were gripping him tight. He lost his battle with those arms and fell into a fitful, reluctant state of nothing. He never saw Shima leave but somehow even in his state, he could feel the heavy silver pocket watch in his pocket.

Before he finally gave in, Roy thought, _Will I be able to read those words again?_

† † †

**Shima** watched helplessly as he was wrenched away from his other, his Alter. Whatever force that allowed them to meet for how long they have this night decided now was the time for him to leave. _But I have to help him, somehow. He's important to Elric._ Yet, he knew it was futile. He didn't have a real body in this world all he had was his spirit and from what he could tell; only Mustang could see him.

It wasn't fair.

Closing his eye tightly, Shima allowed himself to be taken away, hesitant to see Ed so soon. He had to lie about what just happened, it wouldn't do to make the blond worry about Mustang. The strings around his heart pulled tight at the thought of Mustang and his relationship with Ed. It had been weeks since he started speaking with Mustang and each time he found himself able to speak with the General, he had to be touching skin-to-skin with Ed. Not that the blond minded. In return, the young man wanted to know everything that has happened in the other world.

When he opened his eye again, Shima stared eye-wide at the golden doors before him. _What?_ The decorations on the walls were intricate and complex, the artisan in him wanted to come closer but a fear in his heart stopped him from doing so. Staring at the monstrous doorway, he shivered in fear. It leaked utterly cold terror and he thought he saw shadows move.

_Where… am I?_

He tried stepping back, away from the Gate but he stumbled and fell to the floor. This was impossible, just like him talking to his Alter was but this, _this_ was insane. He was no world drifter, he was only a mere doctor. He was only—

"Hello, Roy." A voice in his head spoke to him but Shima was frozen on the ground. The doors began to open but the voice was soft and female. It helped sooth his heart. "It has been awhile, has it not?"

"Who... what… are you?" Shima glanced around, scared. There was no way a voice was speaking to him. He had to get back to Ed, even if he was going to lie.

A soft chuckle filled his ears as the voice replied, "It matters not now but I seen you before. And perhaps you have seen me. Have you ever wondered why you received that pocket watch?"

Shima shook his head, body trembling.

"Of course not, you take things as they are and do not bother to change unless you see fit. Many could learn from you and you could learn from many. The watch is the key. Edward Elric and his brother Alphonse is needed in their world. Just as we had always hoped they wouldn't but it would seem… they are unhappy with their lives on your world, Roy.

"Amestris is at war with an enemy that _should_ not have left us. Yet he escaped and with him, he took something from your world. A poison that runs through the veins of the intended Fuhrer of that country."

"A poison…? You mean Mustang is infected by something?" Shima stood up hesitantly on unsteady legs.

He felt more than see whoever was speaking nod at him, "Yes. A poison that tears him apart. It comes from your world as does the technology Drachma has. Your worlds were never to be connected but yet they were. If by the mistakes of two men. Yet, we cannot undo the past but we can change the future.

"You see you were chosen for a reason. Mustang and you have the same blood flowing through your veins. You are closer than you both may think and it is because of that connection we allowed Mustang's watch to fall into your hands.

"Mustang may be the catalyst in that world but you are the catalyst of your own. You both hold a responsibility and the Fullmetal Alchemist is needed back on the world he was born."

He stared at the ground, "I'm only a doctor. I am not an Alchemist. I am only a healer."

"Then heal, White Horse."

Shima blinked as he fell into a hole that suddenly appeared at his feet. Images flooded his mind, one was so vivid he found himself staring at himself creating a circle—a transmutation circle—on the ground. Mustang's watch was broken in his hands and slivers of crimson stone was scattered on the edges of the circle. Another had him creating a simple antidote, adding some of his own blood to the substance, and a vaccine of a poison he had encountered in the East. A whisper, this time male, told him this is what Mustang needed.

He never felt himself hitting the ground.

† † †

**His** eyes snapped open, a hand covering his sweaty forehead. Then all at once he remembered what happened. Shima felt like vomiting but he didn't dare do it when Ed was next to him, his flesh shoulder touching Shima's own. It was a hot day and they agreed to take a nap underneath a large shady tree. Alphonse was with the Hughes family and Noa.

It was only time until Ed would wake up and demand a recollection of what happened this time with Mustang. Shima's chest tightened and he wished for the first time that this gift wasn't for him to have. But he could see no other person worthy of having it. His hand fingered the shape of the Amestris symbol on Mustang's pocket watch. Ed didn't want it and Shima understood. The memories had to hurt.

Though he was curious, he didn't want to _know_.

A hand reached to the blond and Shima felt the strands of soft spun gold before he saw himself touching them. Ed stirred slightly. Shima pulled away. It was no good, especially now to stay attached to the blond. Usually by now he was gone, drifting away to some other place, to some other new world. _Worlds… I used to move from city to city, country to country but now I'm moving between real solid **worlds**. There must be something wrong with this picture._

Shima smiled slightly and pushed himself off the warm grass and slipped back on his cotton shirt. It had been a hot day and no one paid anyone mind if a few men lost their shirts to battle with the heat. However, Ed decided to find a more secluded spot and Shima understood.

Underneath the apparatuses that held the young man's prosthetic arm, the doctor could spy deep scaring on the blond's body. There had to be a story behind those scars and like Ed's memories, he didn't really want to know. Some things were better left unsaid.

He stood up on unsteady legs and gripped the tree trunk for stability. The blond remained asleep when he started walking away to the main road, bag in hand. There was something he felt the need to do. He felt the need to have a private session with his God at the Synagogue nearby. The animosity between the Germans and the Jews were one of the reasons why he moved so much. Yet, Shima would not have it any other way. _Better now than later when it may become worse._ His medical bag felt heavy with each step but Shima paid it no mind. It had been long enough since the last time he went.

Shima wouldn't call it fear being the force that drove him away. The doctor was never an avid Jew, preferring Buddhism more often than not, but one cannot change one's heritage. Just like one cannot change their own family. He slipped a hand into the pocket that held Mustang's watch and grasped it lightly.

_To believe that this is the reason why he and I met…_ Shima shook his head in slight amusement when he spied something out of the corner of his eye. _Blood?_

Running over, he spied a broken boy on the ground, bleeding deeply into the grass, green becoming a murky brownish red. He rolled the boy over. Shima bit hard on his bottom lip, drawing the taste of coppery salty crimson to his taste buds, to stop a strangled noise from escaping. The child looked half-dead.

Pressing two fingers to the wounded boy's neck, Shima shook his head sadly. He noticed the Star of David, a small piece of fabric, clutched in the boy's hand. He looked around for any sign of the attackers but only found two more bodies near the boy's. Dead, from what he could tell.

He suddenly felt like vomiting his innards out of his body.

The faces were slashed beyond recognition. Pieces of flesh started peeling off the faces and fabric ball gags were thrust into what would have been mouths. Their eyeballs were taken out and they had no noses. The boy had a gag that Shima untied but he knew the child was dying. There was nothing he could do for the wounded boy and despite his career choice, Shima was no miracle worker.

Idly, he thought the boy looked like the very same one that saved his other from that Fritz Lang imposter. The child even had strangle marks, hand-sized bruises around his neck, blood pumping out of a large hole in the boy's chest and neck. _He doesn't have much time left…_

Quietly, he set the dying body on the ground, bringing over what he assumed to be the boy's mutilated parents. Kneeling before them, he set a small prayer to his god. It wasn't much, but it was the least he could do. He seen it all before. It wasn't hard if one only _looked._

_Will there be a time of peace?_ Shaking his head, Shima stood up and stared at the boy's broken body. He removed a small filled syringe from his bag and injected into the boy's bicep. The forearm was bent at the wrong angle and though he could sense the child was unconscious, a peaceful death for the innocent boy was all he could over.

Walking away from the site and into the towering building-filled streets of the town, Shima felt very small but he tried to ignore the feeling and the new memory of a mutilated face with empty eye sockets and cut off noses. Shima seen worse but to see one attack so soon—so cruel—after a time of relative piece, it was despicable. Shima wondered if this is what Mustang felt when he saw his country start to crumble around him.

Shima grunted suddenly as he was forced against a brick wall. He found himself staring at a bloody shirt and a strong arm pressed against his neck. Gasping for breath, he felt the sting of a knife on his side. The holder of the knife didn't press further, only allowing the doctor to feel the edge of the blade. He didn't stare up into the eyes of his assaulter but he knew this man had to be the one that killed those people just moments before.

He already knew what he would see in that person's eyes.

The man was talking, disgracing Jews and why they should just die. Why the Germans should be the lone rulers of the world. Shima scoffed in his head. _Thule lackey, can't you see that is not the way the world should be?_ His attacker couldn't hear his thoughts but ranted how much he was waiting for another Jew to show up and help those corpses, how much he was waiting for his next victim. The arm against his neck pressed harder against him. Shima fought to breath.

A flash of gold in the corner of his eye was his only warning before he saw his assaulter crumble onto the ground. Shima slumped against the wall, breathing heavy before he spied a familiar pair of shoes in front of him. "Sorry about that," Shima apologized to those boots.

The owner just grunted and hauled him up to his feet. "Bastard. Why do I have to keep saving you?"

Shima smirked, "It's the way you love me."

"Fucking Bastard." Ed rolled his eyes, pulling Shima by the man's collar back toward the crowded streets. "So what did you and Mustang talk about this time?"

His chest tightened, "The same thing. The war and all that. Elric? What would you do if you were given the chance to go back there?"

Ed snapped his head to Shima, shocked at the question, "As much as I like it here… I would go back, provided I can bring Al with me. We've been through too much to be separated now."

Shima nodded and kept silent, hoping to his god that Ed wouldn't pry more. He could hear his heart breaking with each word the blond had said. _I thought… I promised myself I wouldn't fall in love with you._

† † †

**Later** that night, Shima and Ed went drinking with Maes. It was a normal affair nowadays but Shima wanted to hit the bottle hard. If only to forget the memories he had recently received. There was no way he could do what that _thing_ wanted from him. He was no miracle worker and he was no Alchemist. Alchemy didn't exist in this world. It was impossible.

Ed didn't pry into him not asking what he knew or what had happened with Mustang. Shima thought that he managed to lie well enough that the blond wouldn't know the difference. It was with that sort of guilt that he finished his bourbon quicker than the rest of his group but they didn't care that much.

Maes was glowing with fatherhood and he quickly gave details of his daughter's day to anyone who would listen and anyone who just happened to be in hearing range, which usually meant everyone in the bar. Shima and Ed shook their heads and took it in stride. Somehow, he had the feeling they would have to get hotel rooms tonight. No doubt Noa, Alphonse and Gracia would prefer some peace and quiet away from the exuberant father.

Shima smirked at Ed and toasted him, "To a hotel room tonight. Care to find the bindings we can use on Maes?"

"Like I could do no less, Bastard," Ed retorted, raising his glass as well. Maes was happily oblivious to their planning.

The doctor ordered some scotch and started to drain it slowly but in large amounts. He didn't need it diluted. He needed the hard kick of the liquor to burn his throat, to burn away the thoughts of his day. Everything had become confusing to him and by the looks of things only the intake of liquor would be the cure to do away with the confusion. It was sometimes his clutch but that didn't mean he enjoyed it.

Smoking only caused him to remember times of fire that stole away his life.

He never noticed Ed looking at him oddly, with a lust-filled gaze of molten gold.

It was around the time the bar was closing when they pulled a drunk and unconscious Maes from their table and onto the streets. Shima felt he didn't drink enough, his mind still clear and sober. It didn't matter that much. The only thing was that they find a room before the clouds decided to pour rain onto them. As much as a release it would be to the people, it would only be a problem for Shima. He rather settle down in a warm bed and sleep the rest of the night away.

Hopefully with no visions from his Alter.

Finding the room was easy, getting two was simple. Figuring out who was sleeping with who was a different matter. Ed was convinced that Maes snored too loud and too much. Shima rolled his eye and just said that Ed was too eager to go to bed with him that he used the most idiotic excuse in the book. The blond just scoffed and said there was no way in Hell that Maes would be dead by morning and since he was so used to sleeping in the same proximity as Shima, it was logical to just room with the doctor.

Shima had little to no argument to that.

With Maes tucked into the bed in the next room, Shima walked into his room, surprised to find Ed shirtless, waiting for him on the edge of one bed. He watched the blond stand up and noted the hazy look in the slightly shorter man's eyes. He was still drunk and Shima wondered if rooming with Ed was a good idea.

A mouth to his neck drew a reluctant purr from him.

He closed his eyes and allowed Ed to pull him to the bed.

It wasn't the first time they have slept together and times like these, Shima could convince himself that Ed was making love to him and not Mustang.

The brunet opened himself to the blond, laying himself out for the blond to take. There was no words exchanged during their acts and Shima wished he had the courage to break the silence of spoken words. The only noises that occurred were the primal sounds of mating.

One thing he loved the most was that Ed's hair was loose and he could weave his fingers into the sea of golden silk.

They moved in sync with each other. Ed was Shima's first, to the former's surprise but Shima would have it no other way though sometimes he wished that it wasn't because he was Mustang's duplicate. He knew who Ed was imagining underneath him. It sickened him that the only thing he was to the blond was the General's replacement.

Yet, he promised he would become that and be sated by it.

Shima always kept his promises. Though at times he felt like he wanted more something more from the blond.

He could feel Ed gripping him hard, breathing shortening into harsh pants, body quivering in the moment of release. Shima's body responded, the actions of this dance almost over. Shima saw the stars despite the rain that poured right outside their window. Lightning clashed and he felt it electrocute him from the inside.

Then he could hear the first word Ed spoke coherently in a long drawn out moan.

"_…Roy._"

And it wasn't addressed to him.

Then Shima made his decision. Edward Elric really did need to go back.

Back to Amestris.

To Mustang.

† † †

**A** few days later, Shima took the two Elrics with him to an abandoned building in the outskirts of Munich. The ground was solid concrete but he heard the gasps behind him. He knew then they caught sight of what he had drown on the floor hours before. "…I had a …vision. It said you had to return and that I was the key."

"Key," Alphonse asked, "What do you mean?"

"You were never meant to stay in this world, not this long. Your world is in entire chaos, ready to tear itself asunder by the havoc that someone has caused." For the first time he stared at both Elrics in the eye, years of being in an oriental household before the fire that stole his childhood—his family—were erased as he defied his cultural mannerisms. "Amestris is becoming the second Ishbal. I have seen it and now…

"Now the man who may save his country lies dying."

Ed stepped forward, "What?!" A harsh frown dug deep on his face, he scowled at the doctor but Shima tried to stay firm. He would not let those golden tiger eyes move him otherwise. This was for their own good. He knew now that a war was on its way to Munich and he had only hoped that Maes would take his advice and flee to America where Shima had some allies willing to help the Hughes family. Maes and his family did not deserve to be here when the war would erupt. The family that took him in was too kind and too… _loving_ to be separated by hate and despair.

"Roy Mustang lies dying on the other side of this… portal," he didn't know what to call the thing he had just drawn, it was not his expertise and he doubt it ever will be. "In his blood lies a poison that exists on this side of the… Gate. I have encountered it before and created vaccines and antidotes of it. No doubt it would one of the weapons of warfare their enemy—your—enemy would use.

"You asked me once a few days ago when you save me, Fullmetal," he saw Ed's eyes widen at the title he never used, "what I had seen. I saw many things. Your world is falling into a living hell on earth. Mustang lies dying because of a poison that is activated by intensive emotions one feels. The stronger the emotion, the more harsh the poison becomes. It is a paralysis of sorts that is slow but sure. The blinding of the victim's eyes is only an added _plus._

"I had… met someone, some_thing_ telling me that you did not belong here, Fullmetal, Alphonse. It told me that I was the catalyst, just as Mustang is," Shima drew in a breath, "We are… the final transmutations of change in those close to us. We change the lives to bring people satisfaction, whether it be healing or leading.

"Mustang is a leader his country needs and I am a healer that I suppose should heal those around me… you all." He glanced around, his eyes setting on the circle on the floor, "I am no miracle worker but there was a reason to why you must have found me then, that night. I was surely about to die for being who I was, a believer in Judaism. But you saved me and I think… it's time I return the favour.

"Your world needs you, Fullmetal. You are the Hero of the People, a savior albeit a reluctant one. You give hope to them. The much needed hope that they will see another day. I do not know who or what is compelling me to do this for you but…" He stared at Ed in the eyes, "I made a promise to myself that I would help you in anyway I can and if… I can give you a path back to your world, then so be it."

"Roy…" Ed stepped toward him, "You're not an Alchemist. How could you know all of this?"

"…I saw… a doorway and it told me what I need to do."

Alphonse walked up to his brother and laid a hand on his shoulder, "Why… are you helping us? You could have just let it be."

"He needs you, they need you. I…" Shima looked away, "want what's best for you. Do not think me foolish but I see how often you wish to be back there. To your "Resembool." I hear the longing in your voices when you speak of it. I hear everything I need to know. Be content you have a home.

"Mine was lost long ago."

"Roy…" Shima wasn't sure who spoke his shortened name but it didn't matter that much to him.

He stared at them both as he dissected the pocket watch in his hand, slivers of red stone shining underneath the silver casing. Some were larger than the others but he knew it would be enough. The voice in his head, not unlike the one he had heard before in that _place_ told him it would do. "Don't you want to go back?"

"Of course we do," Ed replied with a snarl, "Why do you think we haven't stopped you now?"

"Then why do you protest so much? I would think you would be thankful to me."

Alphonse stared at Shima blankly, "You could lose your life for doing this for us. The Gate… is merciless."

Shima smirked, "I'm already dead. You may not have heard it but they are screaming my name on those streets. I am the one they are seeking, the next sacrifice to their blood filled fury. Even if I do not do this, even if I do die doing this. I am already dead."

"Don't say that," Ed moved until he was only centimeters away from Shima. The doctor tossed the sliver of crimson stones along the edges of the circle—the array. "You're not dead. You're still alive, damn it. Bastard, don't talk like that."

"I'm… not the man you want, Fullmetal."

"Bullshit," the blond spat.

"I'm doing this for you."

It was Ed's younger brother that stepped forward, gripping his brother's flesh arm, "Ed… he's… giving us a way home… He _wants_ to do this. I mean… I don't like it, either but… if he's right… why should we stop him? You can't stop people from doing what they want…"

Ed sighed heavily, "Fine. But you better live."

Shima smiled, a light content but tired grin, "I'll try." He never made promises he knew he couldn't keep. "I'll try my best. But first…"

The doctor stepped forward to Ed and looked down at him. He grasped the blond's vest and pulled him up for a hard chaste kiss. It would have stayed that way if Ed didn't pry his mouth open like a dying man in need of a drink only to find an oasis in the hot, barren desert.

What once was innocent turned passionate and forceful. Shima tried to turn the tide on Ed, wanting to dominate the other man, if only this once. This was the first time they had kissed each other on the mouth. There was a power behind the force Ed used when he tried to devour the slightly taller man. For a moment, Shima could easily convince himself that this was for him that whatever Ed felt for Mustang was his and his alone.

_Is it possible to be jealous of yourself? Even if yourself is only your reflection cast into a different light on a different world?_

Ed tasted divine and Shima wished he could be selfish and keep the blond for himself but he couldn't. The Fullmetal Alchemist had to go back to where he belonged. It wasn't his right to keep him here.

Pulling away was the hardest thing he could do but he did it easily enough. Shima stared at Ed for a moment before stepping back, just outside the circle. "My name… Shiroima… is means literally White Horse. Do you know what the White Horse of the Apocalypse is? Who is the White Horsemen?

"He is the Antichrist, the enemy of the savior but yet here I am helping you along. Perhaps I am not the White horseman of the Apocalypse but rather the Rider that holds the stone, Albedo. Albedo is the purification, the revival in some books and here I am purifying you, healing you for your journey. I may be only a doctor but I suppose even we, healers, have to create a miracle at least once during our lives.

"Here is where your sojourn ends, Alphonse Elric, Edward Elric. Here is the next start of your new journey. This is Final Transmutation you would find on this world. The final change, I should hope though from what I understand there is no such thing as final, there is only continuation. A circle with no end but only beginnings." Shima stepped on the edge of the transmutation circle but did not look at it, he stared only at the two men before him.

"If you know the myth of Orpheus then learn from his mistake. Do not look back as you walk the stairs of hell. Walk forward and trust in yourselves that you are together. Do not look back. There will be nothing left here for you."

They nodded to him, mouths tight on their faces in a grim line. Shima gave Ed two vials, one marked with a symbol of fire-like wings. "This one," he indicated to marked vial, "this is the antidote for Mustang. Give it to him the moment you see him. It will cure him of his ails. The unmarked on is the vaccine. Duplicate it and give it to your people."

Ed nodded to him and stepped forward, hand gripping Alphonse's tight. They touched the first step of the spiral staircase the transmutation circle had become and Shima bowed his head in respect.

He watched the Elric brothers disappear through the portal, sighing in relief. It wasn't by all means fair but it was the least he could do. _They… really don't belong here._ He stood up and clenched the now brittle watch in his hand.

All he had to do was break it and whatever he had done would disappear, the stones along the edges lost their luster and glow. Though he wasn't Mustang, he knew they were losing whatever power they had. Shima let out a small prayer, hoping the two wanderers would reach their destination whole and complete but most of all _fine_.

_If they are about to enter a world filled with chaos then please keep them sane._

A light flower-scented breeze touched his skin and then he knew they would be fine.

Dropping the pocket watch onto the hard ground, he stomped hard on it with his heavy boot. It shattered with little force, just like his heart was shattering when he sent those two away. The circle before him glowed once before evaporating into nothing. _That's it… they're gone now. _

Goodbye Alphonse Elric. Goodbye Edward Elric. Goodbye Fullmetal. I… love… you.

Darkness soon enveloped him as a bag was placed over his head, taking away his sight. A punch to his spine left him soaring toward the ground before him, where the circle once was. He tried to sit up but a heavy boot fell on his back, driving the breath away from his body.

Someone slammed his head against the hard floor. Shima could feel the blood dripping down the sides of his head. Then they were dragging him away, kicking him with every other step. No one pulled a gun or knife on him yet but Shima knew what was going to happen next.

He never expected to see Maes Hughes clutching a handgun before him.

† † †

**Ed** gripped Al's hand hard. The noises around him were wails of terror and pain but he didn't dare let go of his brother. Never again, not here. The stairs they walked seemed to be endless but he stared forward on. He had heard the story of Orpheus and the irony drew a smirk to his lips. He only had to trust that his brother was with him and that they would get out of this alive.

They didn't speak to each other. They knew the stakes. They had to get back. Back to Amestris.

Icy breezes blew through their coats, chilling their bodies with unnatural cold. Ed had gone through Hell and back to get his brother a flesh and blood body. This second trip was nothing compared to that. He gripped tighter on Al's hand, taking in comfort in the warmth of his brother's hand in his left flesh hand. The gloves he normally worn was forgotten in Munich but Ed knew he wouldn't need him here.

Here sin was rampant. Its shrieks sounding on non-existent walls, bouncing around them in a haunting song of despair but he didn't let the intentional sounds touch him. He had a goal to reach. The vials Shima gave him felt heavy in his pocket. Ed fingered them through the cloth with his right hand.

Time didn't matter to him or his brother as long as they met their destination.

Warmth filled their bodies as something similar to arms grasped their bodies loosely. Ed thought of shaking them off but the warmth they exerted wasn't like the black deadly ice of those that belonged to the Gate. He thought he heard Al gasp but he only gripped tighter on his younger brother's hand. It was as much of a comfort to sibling as it was to him. A familiar smell filled his noise.

The realm the Gate of Truth was in had no smell but Ed swore he could smell… flowers. _Mom…?_

"_I forgive you… I love you… remember that… Edward… Alphonse… I'm always with you… now hurry. Run. The way to the other world is closing._

As soon as they heard those words, the Elrics sprinted down the stairs, stumbling over their feet. The warmth Ed felt on his body filled his heart, lightening the burden he always had. It may have been his mother but he didn't dare look back to see if it was. "Al! Don't look!"

His brother's voice sounded as if it was far away but Ed could hear Alphonse agree. A longing in his heart to see who the voice belonged to was his only regret for not doing so. They had to move forward.

A light at the end of the staircase signaled exit. Ed could see it slowly shrinking and forced himself to run faster. They were almost home. The wails of chaotic agony grew louder in their ears but another warm embrace wrapped around their bodies. This time it was _apple_, like apple pies fresh out of the oven. He could hear chuckling in his ears, urging him to go faster, never to look back, to tell Roy that he was forgiven and he better live long enough to be Fuhrer. That he didn't need to see his friend so soon, despite how good the company may be.

They were almost there.

New arms that smelled like summer embraced them next. Ed smiled lightly, hearing a familiar female voice barking to him he better succeed that no student of hers deserved to end up in this prison. Not yet. Ed nodded briskly at the order. He learned from his mistakes and he had no wish to repeat them. This place was not their home!

Once the stairs ended, they raced toward the ever-shrinking exit. Something caught on Ed's foot but whatever it was released him soon enough. The Alchemist faltered, leaning against Al who supported him, unseen. His right leg felt weaker and for a second he thought he could feel pain in it but he shook his head at the thought. It was probably phantom pains.

Three sets of arms wrapped around him. Two sets quickly retracted and Ed thought he heard Winry's parents saying that he should tell Mustang that they hold no grudge, that they forgave him, that it wasn't his fault.

A familiar cologne filled Ed's nostrils and he was sure Al could smell it too.

Someone pushed them through the exit but no matter how much he wanted to turn, Ed did not.

_"Take care… My sons."_

A blinding white light caused him to close his eyes. He felt himself skidding along concrete and could smell smoke, not fire or explosion, but smoke as if a cigarette was near. Nicotine. He felt _blood_ sliding down his _right_ leg. _That can't be right. I don't have a right leg…_

When he opened his eyes, Ed found himself staring into the shocked eyes of one Jean Havoc.

† † †

**Maes's** hands shuddered as he held the gun, watching his friends unveil the damned Jew he was supposed to kill. It was his choice to be part of this Thule society and though the mark it had on the German people had dimmed, it was still there. It was his duty to his alliance with the society and if it meant executing a Jew then so be it.

He never thought it would be _Roy_.

The partial Japanese man stared at him as if he expected it was him. Roy didn't say anything. Maes didn't say anything. _This can't be happening… He's not a Jew. He's a doctor, damn it. He's not one of those **freaks**!_ His breathing shortened slightly but not enough for his comrades to spy it. His weapon hand quivered lightly.

Roy was the one to help Gracia deliver Alicia. There was no way in Hell that he could be a Jew. Jews were bastards, the worst of the worst. If Roy was a Jew, he would _know._ This was the man he shared his life stories with, his dreams, hopes and life. Their friendship seemed to be like it was always there. Maes could hardly see himself without Gracia or Roy in his life but this…

He did not expect _this._

Maes heard his friends, his comrades tell him why the man kneeling before him, bleeding, should die. Why it was their duty as Thule members to eliminate all Jews. How Roy was a _Monster_ that should be destroyed _now_.

_He's not a monster. He's as human as me. As us all. Why don't you all see that?!_ He bit the inside of his cheek hard, still not believing this was happening. Roy didn't deserve to die, especially with all help he had give to Maes's household. He was more than just a doctor, he was a friend. A good one at that.

_I… have to kill him,_ the officer realized, aghast. _It's my turn to be the executer but… I can't kill my **almost-brother**! I know him. I dined with him. I spoke with him. I drank with him. He's as much as a man I am. He cries, he laughs, he **lives**. _

Roy never hurt anyone intentionally and he never fought with anyone.

He doesn't deserve to **die**.

Yet here he was, gun in hand and labeled the Righter of the Wrongs and the Hand of Justice by his friends and companions. Here, Maes was given the weapon to destroy evil but if evil were men like Roy… Maes would rather be one of the dark beasts himself. He knew this man, intimately over the time they had spent together. He knew everything there was to Roy save his past and vice versa.

It wasn't fair.

The officer could hear the shouting, the yells, the screams for blood. His hands kept a sweaty hold on his gun. He stared into Roy's single eye, pleading for the man to deny what he was being accused from.

Roy held his head high and just looked into Maes's gaze. Covertly, he shook his head.

Maes swallowed the lump in his throat but it grew bigger and refused to be removed. He felt like the air was ripping away from him. There was no way they would ask him to do what they intended. He refused to kill his own best friend because that's what Roy was to him now. He was his almost-brother, his friend, his confidante. He was everything he needed now, especially in a chaotic time as now. Gracia could only do so much, bless her heart.

Gripping the gun hard, he blinked rapidly at the sight of a wounded Roy in front of him. The other man bowed his head and he could hear the calls for blood growing louder in his ears. He wanted nothing more than to be dreaming, to wake up next to his beloved Gracia and see Roy in the kitchen with Noa fixing everyone breakfast. He wanted to go back in time, where all he knew was Roy the doctor. _Not Roy the Jew._

He should do this.

_Oh God, why is this happening. I don't want to kill my friend._

The officer's once steady hands shook more terribly but no one noticed the inner peril he was going through. The wanton screams of destruction pierced his mind like bullets into a criminal's body, unrelenting, non-stopping. Maes wanted escape, more than anything, he wanted to see someone else's face on the body kneeling before him.

A voice whispered to him what if that face was another person he knew. What makes a monster, a monster? What makes one man different from another? The belief in a different religion? A different skin color? A different face, similar but unlike your own?

Maes started doubting the beliefs the Thule society fed him. He knew Roy as a person first. He wondered why they were killing men, women, _children_ now. Maybe they were the monsters, maybe they were the ones that should be punished.

The lump in his throat refused to be swallowed down, growing by each thought he had. This was not fair. He wasn't supposed to be holding a gun, a weapon to his friend's chest and head. He was not supposed to kill his friend.

He was not supposed to kill _Roy._

He felt sick to his stomach.

Someone's hand was placed on his shoulder and he looked into the eyes of the man who brought Roy before him. He didn't hear the man's words but he could read the man's lips. They demanded he kill the man, the friend, the almost-brother before him.

Maes couldn't shake his head, he couldn't refuse. He placed himself in this position. It was his grave to dig.

With practiced ease, he raised his hands. He murmured his apology. Roy mouthed it wasn't his fault. It didn't make him feel any less guilty.

Maes aimed.

Maes fired.

Once.

Twice.

Roy's body slumped onto the ground, dead and bleeding. A bullet wound in his head and chest.

The screams of the audience intensified.

He turned around and strode out, murmuring that he needed to go back home. Somehow, Maes managed to keep his voice steady but once he was outside and on his way to his home, he crumbled.

Rounds of despair shook his body in the warm evening air.

Without knowing it, he found himself in front of his house door, hand raised to knock. Gracia opened the door and stared at her husband. Maes choked.

"It's raining."

His wife took him into her arms, warming his cold, numb body with her heat.

"We're leaving. Get Noa and Alicia, bring whatever you can on your back. We need to go. They're… not coming with us." Gracia knew what "they" were. She was smart and Maes inwardly thank her for not asking any questions. He wasn't sure his heart could take it.

On their way out, Maes took a bottle of bourbon with him.

It was gone by morning.

In his pocket were four tickets to the next boat to New York in America.

† † †

**Havoc** drove them quickly to Central city's main hospital, no questions asked and little to tell. Ed noticed that the soldier had gone through at least three packs during the trip but Ed knew it had to be something important. He and Alphonse already knew about Mustang but what else did the other Roy didn't mention? Who was alive? Who was dead?

Why was Havoc in Central? The last he heard Mustang and his gang was in North City.

A heavy weight pulled at his heart, with each passing second he felt it grow heavy, pulling, straining. It was almost similar to the burden he had carried all these years since that fateful night. He grasped Al's hand tightly and stared at his left leg.

Somehow, someway it was flesh but he still no idea as to how or why. It didn't matter that much. His right arm was still fake, a reminder the Gate wanted him to keep. Ed was thankful for that. He didn't want to forget his past. He couldn't run from it. There was always a reminder of it. He acknowledged his pain, suffering, his blood-sweat-and-tears stained past for what it is. A learning experience.

It was a miracle that nothing else was taken from him.

The smell of anesthetic filled his nose, a dead smell that only brought memories of his own pain in the hospital. He prayed to whoever would listen that Mustang was still alive. They had come this far; it wouldn't be right if he found Mustang dead. Especially now.

The other Roy was right, this was there home and he could see the despair in the streets. They needed hope. And the return of the legendary Fullmetal Alchemist would just have to do. Al squeezed his brother's hand. Ed reveled in the feel, concentrating on getting to the room Mustang was in. His left leg still felt weak but he paid it no mind. He had to give the bastard his damn antidote.

He knew the man was the right person for the job of Fuhrer. _As long as he doesn't follow through with the miniskirt thing._ Ed allowed himself a small smile at the thought. They were home, finally home and hopefully some sense of normalcy would come back to them. The blond suddenly felt the urge to just argue with the General. He needed a sense of "everything is going to be okay" from the Flame Alchemist. It was the least the guy could do after he and his brother came all this way to save his damn forsaken life.

A flash of blond hair was his only warning when he and Al found themselves swept into familiar machine oil-scented arms. Ed snuggled back into the comforting arms of a girl, no woman, he thought he would never see again, "Hi, Winry."

Winry cried on their shoulders, thankful to see them again. Ed pulled away from her arms only to let Al receive the full blunt of her teary worried but thankful hug. He noticed Gracia and Elysia sitting outside the door where Mustang was in. Fuery was next to the two women. The widow and the soldier gave the Alchemist a hesitant smile which Ed tried to return.

Staring at the door he knew Mustang was behind, Ed took a deep breath and stepped through the threshold. Hawkeye was seated in the only chair, her chest bare save for a loose bluish Hospital gown and bandages that peered from underneath it. She nodded to Ed and gestured to Mustang with her head. He couldn't find Breda or Falman.

Ed's throat tightened as he studied Mustang's prone figure. The man's hands were bandaged and he could see more gauzes underneath the thin almost translucent gown that was Hospital regulation. His skin was a deathly pale.

Mustang wore no eye-patch.

Aside from the scar tissue locking the empty eye socket closed, Ed could see burn marks around the eye. He had no clue as to the other man had it. He never seen the General without his eye-patch that one time he had returned through the Gate when the Thule society tried to conquer what they deemed was Shamballa.

Taking Mustang's hand in his own, he pulled out the marked vial from his pocket, removing the oxygen mask and poured the contents down the unconscious man's throat. Hawkeye protested in the background but he paid her no mind. He watched the heart monitor, trying to let the steady beeps soothe his nerves. He gripped tightly around the bandaged hand. Mustang had to survive. He did not come all this way to see him die right in front of him.

Being a witness to this man's death would be too much for him.

Despair grasped his heart tightly as he stared wide eyed at the heart monitor. The constant beeps started slowly, dying. He started yelling at the other man to stay alive, to stay with them, with him. Mustang needed to be Fuhrer damn it and there was no way he was going to let the other man die. High pitches of the machine slowed by the second by the moment. Ed couldn't breathe.

This cannot be happening. It just can't. He won't let it.

A high pitch never-ending, continuous sound was his only reply and he started berating the man. Years of frustration filled his voice, his helplessness, his pain, his agony. Years he spent with and without this man before him. He screamed until his voice died in his throat that the man should be still living. He wasn't supposed to die before him. Had they not promised themselves at least that much?

Ed gripped the hand tightly, flesh thumb stroking the backside of it in a circular motion. There was a war going on, he yelled, they needed a leader and who better than a man who fought for Justice over anything else? But if Mustang stayed dead then so be it. Mustang didn't deserve to live if he was a quitter.

The man Ed knew never quit, he only bided his time until he deemed it right. That was the Flame Alchemist he remembered, the Flame Alchemist he loved.

With a hurt-filled wail, he pounded the man's chest with his right hand, hitting his heart.

The flat line of the monitor spiked, a slow but ever growing pulse rate started to show. Ed grinned and yelled for the damn god complex Colonel of his to get up and start moving.

"…I … can't … … …die …yet. I… still… …have to …be … … …Fuh …rer…"

No other words became heaven to his ears.

Mustang blinked slowly, eye lid opening minutely and Ed held his breath.

He grinned into the open eye of his superior officer.

"Bastard. Didn't I say you can't die before me?"

Leaning down, the Fullmetal Alchemist touched lips with the Flame Alchemist, who in his shock opened his mouth. Ed invaded through the small breach and kissed the older man to the surprise of the others with as much passion as he felt, no doubt taking the injured man's breath away and into his own body.

Yet somewhere, in the deepest part of his heart, Ed felt dismay.

Somehow, he felt… that Feuer Shiroima's kiss was more powerful and better than the Flame Alchemist's.

And then he knew.

He left the man he loved behind him once more.

**†** **The End? †**  
To be continued in the Sequel

End Notes: I'm working on the sequel as part of my NaNo plan. I also plan to rewrite this fic someday, maybe. Might just decide to write snippets that go inbetween the scenes and/or from different point of views of different characters. Maybe both?

I live off your reviews. Really. So please feed me?


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